Stick

by Andrew Smith

  It felt as good as Emily washing my hair.

  Maybe better.

  I had to look away from her instantly.

  What was she doing?

  She was so beautiful, and can’t she see how goddamned ugly I am?

  People don’t touch me.

  I felt sick, like I was going to pass out. There were little prickles under my hair. I squeezed her hand back. I was acutely aware of every needle-sharp grain of sand inside my underwear.

  Kim said, “I know how to get to Sal’s.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” If my voice was an eggshell, it had a million cracks in it at that moment.

  “I thought driving around with you was fun.”

  “Oh.”

  It turned out that Sal’s was only about five minutes from fucking El Rio.

  I wished it were farther, because I was getting pretty good at driving one-handed.

  * * *

  Kim Hansen was the first girl who ever kissed me. She did it when Bosten and Evan carried their surfboards around the twins’ house to hang them up on the back patio. Right there in the shade on the side of her house, she just grabbed me by my neck and pulled my face right down into hers.

  I didn’t know anything about kissing, but I could tell that Kim was probably as practiced at it as her brother was at rolling joints. I never knew that tongues could be so useful, or the inside of someone else’s mouth could taste so good. And Kim kind of made squeaking, satisfied noises while we made out.

  She even slid her hand up beneath my Sex Wax shirt and rubbed my bare back.

  But I was so scared, I couldn’t talk after that kiss. And I felt terribly guilty and ashamed, too, because somewhere, in the back of my mind, I had this idea that if I wasn’t ever going to have a “first kiss” with Paul Buckley’s mom, it was for sure going to be with Emily Lohman. And now I was horrified, because what would Emily do when I kissed her all like I knew what I was doing and stuff? She’d have to know I’d done it before.

  With someone else.

  And that made me feel really bad.

  “Okay,” Kim said. “Sorry. I just had to see what you kissed like.”

  And then she just flipped her hair around and went back to where Bosten and Evan were.

  Just like that.

  But before Bosten and I went home to Aunt Dahlia’s, I followed Kim inside the house and stopped her on her way to take a shower.

  “That’s not fair,” I whispered. “You just can’t do stuff like that and walk away.”

  “Why not? I was dying to know.”

  “Well? I nev— What do I kiss like, anyway?”

  “Very, very sweet.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now you can tell people you drive at night, oh … with just one hand, blow things up, and French-kiss older girls when nobody’s watching.”

  I thought about slipping in something like and I take baths completely naked with Emily Lohman.

  “Nobody has mottos that long.”

  * * *

  I drove the car back to Dahlia’s. It was still light outside, and we were happy to be home.

  And satisfied.

  Everything changed when we spent those days with Aunt Dahlia. We couldn’t help it.

  It was like the tide.

  I never lied to Aunt Dahlia. It was one thing keeping secrets about other people—Bosten, Emily, Mom, and Dad—but I couldn’t stand keeping secrets about me from her. So I told her that I’d driven her car home that day. I didn’t say why, but maybe she already knew anyway. Maybe she could keep secrets about Bosten, too.

  “I drive a lot of times,” I said.

  Her eyes smiled at me, like it was no big surprise. And she said, “When I was your age, there was no such thing as not old enough. You could either do something, or you couldn’t.”

  “Well. I can drive.”

  “You’re bigger than both of us,” she said.

  “If you’re hiding something from me, don’t put it on top of the refrigerator.”

  Dahlia laughed. “One day, I’ll have you take me for a drive, Stark.”

  I nodded.

  * * *

  When Bosten and I were in bed, the phone rang. I sat up and saw the pass of Dahlia’s shadow in the crack of light beneath our door.

  Nothing good ever comes out of a telephone at night.

  “I bet that’s them,” Bosten said.

  “You want to get up and talk to them?”

  “No.”

  There came a very soft knocking on our door.

  Everything Dahlia ever did was soft.

  She peeked in on us. “Your mother is on the phone,” she whispered.

  Bosten didn’t move. It was like he was talking to the ceiling when he said, “Please tell her we’re asleep, or we’re out with our friends on the beach. Tell her anything you think of.”

  Dahlia just nodded and shut the door without making a sound.

  * * *

  “Bosten?”

  “What?”

  “Are you asleep?”

  “Dumbshit.”

  “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “I made out with Kim today. She put her tongue

  in my mouth.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Swear to God.”

  “Why?”

  “She told me she wanted to. Just like that. And I thought

  it was sexy.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “See? I told you.”

  “What?”

  “You are what you are, Stick. Nobody and nothing is going

  to make you change.”

  My brother knew the truth about everything.

  * * *

  Easter was laundry day.

  We had to get ready to go home.

  I’d never been to a funeral, but I couldn’t imagine anything could have made Bosten and me feel gloomier than thinking about leaving Dahlia and California.

  And in those last few days on the Strand, we surfed from morning to evening.

  Kim didn’t make out with me again, but I so desperately wanted to. Neither of us said a word about it. Sometimes she’d hold my hand, or put her arm across my back out in the water, but she did that kind of stuff to Bosten and her brother, too. It was like nothing ever happened, which made it all seem even more like a dream to me, even if I couldn’t get the taste of Kim Hansen out of my mouth.

  The only good part about going back—if there was one—was that Mrs. Buckley and Paul were going to pick Bosten and me up at the airport in Seattle. They were going to take me to the Lohmans’ house, and Bosten was supposed to stay with Paul until the weekend before school started again. So that meant I’d get to keep my Sex Wax shirt and actually wear it for Emily in Washington.

  And, probably, with Mom out of the house, nobody would ever find it, anyway.

  I was barefoot, wearing only my Washington jeans and nothing else, carrying every last article of clothing Bosten and I owned in a bundle through Aunt Dahlia’s kitchen.

  “Can you show me how to work your washer?” I said.

  “Oh, sweetie, you just leave those here on the table and I’ll take care of you boys’ washing.”

  “Really?” I hesitated to put our stuff down on top of her table.

  “Really. Don’t be silly, now.”

  I put down the bundle of laundry. Socks and everything. “Me and Bosten

  always have to do our own stuff at home. Mom

  says boys’ things are dirty.”

  “What kind of crazy notion is that?”

  I didn’t know what kind of crazy notion it was.

  Bosten was dressed the same as me—jeans and nothing else—and he came scooting out of the bedroom when Evan and Kim knocked on Dahlia’s front door. It was going to be our last day surfing together.

  The twins already had their wetsuits on.

  They smelled like Sex Wax.

  I know I will never get
that particular smell out of my head, no matter how long I live or don’t live. The four surfboards leaned against Dahlia’s rickety fence, and Evan carried the extra two suits he’d been loaning us all week, flopped over his shoulder like dead animal hides.

  All of us could see the gloom in one another’s eyes. In some ways, I guess, that was a good thing, because it meant that we really were friends, and that, maybe, Bosten and I did find a place where we could fit in. And it was a place that had only one rule, as far as I could tell, and it was an easy rule to follow: Love each other.

  Evan plopped the wetsuits down on Dahlia’s living room floor. “You guys can have these. Take them back to Washington with you.”

  “Really?” I said.

  “Really. I get a new suit every few months, anyway.”

  Bosten said, “I don’t think any guys surf in Washington.”

  “Then hold on to them until you come back,” Evan said. I could tell it was kind of hard for him to say that. He shrugged, and added, “Besides, you peed in them.”

  “Ha!” I laughed. “Only about a million times! Thanks, Evan.”

  Bosten picked up his suit and started back toward our bedroom so he could put it on. I noticed Kim, standing behind her brother on the cracked walkway leading to Dahlia’s door.

  She said, “You know you guys have eggs out here?”

  “What?” I said.

  “Eggs. Colored eggs. All over in the sand.”

  Dahlia came out of the kitchen. She laughed. “You can’t go anywhere till you do the egg hunt.” Then she added, apologetically, “They don’t

  hide too well in sand, I guess.”

  I went out onto the walk. Dahlia’s yard was littered, everywhere, with colored eggs.

  It was beautiful in the morning light.

  “This is the coolest and most amazing Easter egg hunt ever,” I said. Then I said something that just kind of fell out of my mouth: “I love you, Dahlia.”

  Bosten and I hurriedly changed into our wetsuits, then we went out into the yard with the twins and Aunt Dahlia to look for eggs.

  And sometimes

  we pretended

  that we couldn’t see them,

  just to make Dahlia

  stay out there longer with us.

  Dahlia let us phone Washington that evening. Not to talk to Mom and Dad. I wanted to talk to Emily, and Bosten wanted to hear Paul’s voice. I think he wanted to test things and see how Buck was feeling about him, now that they’d been apart for a week.

  I went first.

  As usual, Mrs. Lohman answered the phone.

  I could tell right away from the heaviness in her voice that she knew about my parents splitting up. But she didn’t really know how things were. Mom and Dad always seemed so perfect.

  Everything always seemed so perfect.

  “Oh my God, Stick! Are you okay?”

  “Uh. I’m fine, Mrs. Lohman. And I’m really looking forward to visiting with you tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Stick.”

  She sounded like she was about to cry.

  “I hope you know that if there’s anything you need—”

  “Um. May I please speak with Emily?”

  “Sure, baby. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Lohman.”

  Dahlia sat at the table. She was listening, but I didn’t care. There was nothing I had to hide from her, and she made me feel almost normal most of the times.

  “Stick?”

  “Hi, Em.”

  “How’s California?”

  At least she knew how to talk to me and not make me feel like I was in a hospital bed, dying.

  “Oh my God, Em, it is so incredible here. Bosten and I learned how to surf. And we’re pretty good at it. Well, Bosten’s better than me.”

  “Does your aunt surf?”

  I laughed.

  It was like that. And Aunt Dahlia never once made me feel like my time was limited, or that telephones were not healthy things for boys. But I didn’t want her to have to pay too much for long distance, either, and I knew Bosten was patiently waiting to give Paul Buckley a call. So I talked to Emily for about five minutes; and, in that time, I realized how much I missed her and needed to see her. And for the first time in my life, I honestly thought about kissing her. Not just thought about it, I wanted to.

  On the mouth.

  Like Kim taught me.

  When I hung up, I noticed that Bosten had been standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. I winked at him, then took Dahlia by the hand and said, “Hey, Dahlia. Do you want to go for a walk with me?”

  And Dahlia’s eyes lit up like I was giving her a present or something. She stood right up and said, “Should we wait for your brother?”

  I said, “No. It’s just me and you.”

  * * *

  “Is Emily your special friend?”

  We walked out toward the jetty. The sun had gone down, but the sky was pale on the horizon, and everything seemed so clear.

  “Yes. She’s my best friend. Well, besides Bosten. Or you.”

  “It’s better, I think, to have a ‘best friend’ than a girlfriend,” Dahlia said. “Girlfriends are your friends because they’re girls. But best friends are people you can share everything with and not be afraid they’ll leave you with less.”

  “That’s how it is,” I said. “Exactly.”

  It was almost like she knew about me making out with Kim.

  “Dahlia? There’s something I need to tell you. I want to say that I am very sorry for how mean I was to you that first day. I didn’t know. And I didn’t think you, or anybody else in the world, wanted me and Bosten around them, anyway. So. Uh. I am sorry.”

  Then Dahlia hugged me so hard and just squeezed me. And nobody had ever really held me like that before in my life. She stroked my hair and said,

  “What am I going to do

  without you boys around?

  What am I going to do?”

  * * *

  Kim kissed Bosten and me at the airport, but it wasn’t a kiss like I got from her the afternoon we went to C Street. It was a sad kiss, because it said good-bye, the same way Evan’s hand did in mine when we shook.

  She and Evan rode with us in Dahlia’s car. I was glad for that, not just for me and Bosten, but because I didn’t want Aunt Dahlia to be lonely after we left.

  I squeezed Dahlia so hard when we had to leave, and then me and Bosten just ran down the boarding gate without looking back. I didn’t want to look at her again because I was starting to cry—we all were—and I felt like something inside me was getting killed.

  Nothing would ever be the same again.

  EMILY

  It wasn’t a long enough flight from Los Angeles to Seattle to make the sadness leave my head, or to stop thinking about all the nevers that seemed to pile up: never, on never, on never, like mountains in front of me.

  Just before the plane landed, Bosten punched my shoulder and said,

  “Snap out of it.”

  I punched him back. “You snap out of it.”

  “I know.”

  “What did Paul say last night?”

  I already knew the answer, could tell by how relieved my brother seemed to be acting when Dahlia and I came back from our walk.

  “Eh. He said he broke up with his brand-new girlfriend.”

  “That experiment didn’t last long, did it?”

  Bosten smiled and shook his head. “Nope.”

  * * *

  “Oh good God! Look at you two!” Mrs. Buckley was practically in tears when she saw us at the airport. I fired a quick glance at Paul and could see in his eyes how much he wanted to hold my brother.

  And I thought, why doesn’t he? That’s so dumb.

  “You are so dark! You boys look completely new!” she said. “Look at your hair!”

  I guess we didn’t realize how much being out on the water all day had changed our appearances. We were tan and healthy-looking; and until Mrs.
Buckley had said it, I didn’t really notice how much lighter Bosten’s hair had gotten.

  And now we were back home in cave-salamander land.

  Where Mom and Dad lived.

  * * *

  Besides giving me a boner every time I saw her, Mrs. Buckley drove just about the coolest car imaginable: a brand-new white and blue Trans Am, complete with air-intake, and a big bird-thing painted across the hood.

  Bosten and I stuffed our bags in the trunk, and then Paul said, “I’ll let Stick sit up front. He’s tallest, anyway.”

  I didn’t think I was the tallest, but I wasn’t going to plead to squeeze into the backseat, either. And, anyway, there was always the chance that his mom would brush my leg with her fingers when shifting gears.

  When we got to the other side of the Puget Sound, Mrs. Buckley asked if we needed to stop by our house and pick up any clothes or things, and Bosten and I both said no at the same time.

  I turned around and looked through the gap between the bucket seats.

  Paul had his hand on Bosten’s knee; and my brother’s arm was stretched across the top of the seat so his fingers touched the back of Paul’s neck It was innocent enough, I guess, and there was no way Mrs. Buckley could tell what was going on, anyway.

  They seemed really happy, and I was glad for that. But maybe I stared at them a little too long, because Paul fired a vicious dirty look that turned me around.

  * * *

  Everyone got out of the car when we arrived at the Lohman house. It was so close to our home, I could practically smell the cigarette smoke drifting over from Dad’s chair, on the other side of the highway.

  Mrs. Lohman threw open the door to the mudroom and stood on the porch. Then Emily squeezed her way around her mother and waved at me.

  I was so glad to see her, so relieved to stop moving, being shuffled from one place to another, and sitting down for that entire day. I put my face inside my Sex Wax T-shirt and smelled.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Bosten said.

  “I still smell like the Strand. Like Dahlia’s house.”

  Bosten put his nose into my neck. “You do.”

  I wanted it that way.

  I purposely didn’t take a shower after the last time we surfed together. There was still sand in my hair, too.

  Mrs. Lohman said, “Stick! And just in time for dinner, too!”

  “I’ll be right there, Mrs. Lohman!”

  Bosten came around and lifted my suitcase from the trunk of the car. He put it down next to my feet.